Lust, one of the seven deadly sins, was sweeping through the nation like wildfire. In its true essence, lust was leading mankind down the path to damnation. In this dystopian society, Cali and Stefani had to comply by the Regime’s strict rule of arranged marriage. But Eminence, the world dictator, doesn’t play fair.

Against all odds, they both decide to put their relationships through the ultimate test on The Temptation Trials—a reality TV show where every temptation of the flesh was set before them.

As participants on the show, they soon learn that losing may cost them more than the men they love. Cali’s torn, unsure of what her future holds with Cade. Stefani worries whether her relationship with Tobias can be salvaged.

Love can be blind. The betrayal they face from the Trials burden them. Will love be their redemption, or will it destroy them?

A million questions torment their minds.

Can you love two people at once? If a person is chosen for you, can those feelings be real?

Cali and Stefani must overcome heartbreak and pull together with their loved ones before it’s too late. The abominable truth is unveiled, which sends them on a journey that will jeopardize their lives.

The will of the weak is his for the taking. Can love save their souls?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

EXCERPT

Glazed, cryptic eyes pierced through me, reminding me of a strung-out junky. His face seemed vaguely familiar, right down to his golden curls. Just couldn’t put my finger on where I’d seen him before. An eerie thrill rippled my spine. The way he was staring creeped me out. I quickly skirted past him, only to have Blondie clasp my arm. Okay, now I was officially freaked.

“Let go of me!” I seethed.

“The time has come,” he blurted.

“What are you talking about?”

“The decision is made … binding.”

This dude was clearly psycho. He spoke in riddles, none of which I understood. “You’ve got me confused with someone else.”

“No, you’re the one.”

My purse, where I normally kept my Taser, was nowhere to be found. He’d better be glad or I’d light his ass up. This whole scene was turning more bizarre by the second. I couldn’t figure out where I was. My surroundings were dim and heat began to consume me. Blondie leaned closer to me. Being nearer, I got a better look at his dilated eyes. His pupils were diamond-shaped, not the usual round. His grip tightened.

“Asshole. Take your hands off me!”

“You’re chosen, and you’re coming with me.”

Though I struggled against him, it didn’t do any damn good. Bright light blazed up ahead, mixed with smoldering heat. I soon realized the light and scalding warmth was coming from giant flames. Doubling my efforts, I fought harder, to no avail. Blondie’s face became a blur, and darkness encompassed me—the scalding heat grew stronger. Time seemed to stand still—my mind swirled in a haze. The only thought that became clear, which seemed to chisel into my mind, was that I had to make the right c

~~~~~~~~~~~~

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Truly has wanted to be an author since she was fifteen years old and is grateful to have accomplished this dream. She has very vivid dreams and a wild imagination. She likes to read, watch tons of TV shows, and movies. She’s addicted to romance and gets a thrill out of action and sci-fi. She writes New Adult and Adult, Romance. Sci-fi, Dystopian, and Paranormal genres.

Truly likes to explore different elements of sci-fi romance, and create various realms of reality. She also loves creating impossible situations for her characters to grow from and try to overcome.

Truly has three wonderful children and a husband who defines the person that she is today. She works full-time as an Ultrasound technologist in Houston, Texas.

Today, my 5th The Wild Rose Press novel, Gylded Wings, released on a sale of only 99 cents at Amazon. I thought I’d tell you a little about the birth of this dark fantasy and share the book video created by author Toni V. Sweeney:

Here is the prologue, which I believe is the best bit of writing I’ve ever done:

My restoration to Grace plunged Heaven and Hell into civil war. The day the earth stood still, I watched from a rock ledge above a field choked with the great armies. Sunlight glinted on the golden helms of the Righteous and the silver helmets of the Damned. Prophecy echoed in the thud of mortal feet and the beat of a thousand wings. I folded my wings around me. This slight movement drew an immediate reaction. As one, the winged combatants turned to stare at me.

Winter wind ruffled the holy raiment draped about my shoulders and blew on me the scent of bitterness. I could taste their disgust and distrust. But I would not bow my head, unless or until I was forced to do so. If I’d possessed a soul, it would have shrunk inside me, but like my celestial brothers, I am soulless.

Let me introduce myself.

I am Ha-Satan, the Adversary, once Heaven’s Prosecuting Attorney. I have been called the Father of Lies, the Master of Temptation, Lord of Hell. I am the one you’ve been taught to fear, who hides beneath your bed to steal your soul. I am the most fearsome and the most beautiful angel.

My existence began as the first light emanating from the Thought. He said to me on the day of my creation, “I make you closest to me, of all the powers, Master and Mirror of my might. I create you beautiful in bliss and name you Lucifer, Bringer of Light.”

And so, my friends, I, Lucifer, would like to set the record straight. If ever I did Fall, I have been forgiven.

Many of the angelic host, who remained loyal during my rebellion, were incensed that the prodigal son had asked for forgiveness and angry that it had been granted. Thus, the Second War in Heaven, the only war I’d ever unintentionally caused, began and the airy corridors ran red with blood. Finally, the conflict had spilled down to Earth. The brave soldiers I’d once led in a bid to regain Heaven were now poised to fight Michael and his formidable army.

I, the mightiest of the Host, was forbidden to lift a finger in this battle, and my brothers were waiting to see what I would do. A tremor of anger coursed through me. I smiled and spread my wings to their full, resplendent span.

Look then, Fallen and Righteous, and take courage or be discouraged by the very sight of me.

Here and there amongst the gathered host, I met a gaze. Gabriel, Uriel, Michael and Rafael guarded the Four Corners. It was a done deal, over before the first blow was struck.

The wail of bagpipes shattered the tension. Peacock wings arched proudly, Paimon, regal in a Royal Stuart tartan kilt, piped the Legions of Hell into battle. He reached the end of the line of soldiers, wings shadowing Men in modern regimental dress, turned and snapped me a smart salute.

Paimon, ah my Paimon, do your eyes accuse or invite?

I bowed low, my hair sweeping the ground. Whether this gesture pleased or angered my old friend, sadly enough, I couldn’t sense. All Hell broke loose, so to speak, when the mortal troops saw me. Their knees knocked. Horror contorted their faces. Swords forged in Hell’s own fires clattered against supernatural shields. The blare of Gabriel’s golden trumpet shook the ground. A silver-voiced trumpet answered the challenge.

Paimon unfurled his wings and bent to his pipes. Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound. How fitting, how ironic that the Fallen—the stubborn, the proud, the doomed—would march into battle to that beautiful old hymn!

On the horizon black clouds coagulated as if the spilt blood of angels had leaked through Heaven’s floor. Daggers of lightning stabbed the sky. A pall of total darkness fell. In one breath, the entire earth went dark. Absolute silence gripped the universe. Then, as it had happened on the First Day, Heaven parted the Darkness with Radiance, a spotlight on the Final Act.

Nice touch, Father. I couldn’t resist a wry smile.

The din of the great armies’ embrace arose, a choir of broken bones, slashed flesh and death rattling in the throats of Man. Into this symphony of chaos as had been foretold, the Sons of Light took flight against the Sons of Darkness. When I, Lucifer, fell two-thirds of Heaven’s Legions followed me into exile. I found myself weeping—hot tears on cold cheeks—as friends so recently become enemies clashed with enemies now compelled into a fragile friendship. I suffered as I was meant to suffer. Even angels are sometimes blind to the shape of things to come.

~*~

Gylded Wings began life as I, Lucifer. I started writing the book years ago in Miami and used to read the Prologue at open mics. By the second line, people had stopped talking to listen. I’m grateful to editor Callie Lynn Wolfe of The Wild Rose Press for helping me bring it to life.

Seventeen-year-old Phoenyx was taken by the aliens who were supposed to save humanity. But Phoenyx didn’t die. She escaped.

Changed, different. Terrifying.

Now she protects the people she used to call neighbors and friends, despite the fact that they don’t trust her. She looks like the aliens—beautiful, strong, and winged. And that’s why those she protects want her dead.

She doesn’t blame them.

All the while, she’s searching for Cole, the boy whose arms she was ripped from the night she was taken. When he shows up at their compound with a new love, everything Phoenyx has been fighting for is turned on its head, and she has to figure out what side she’s really on and who she really is before she loses herself completely.

Nyx scooted closer to the rocky precipice, and then just a bit further, so she could curl her toes around the edge. The wind howled, jerking at her hair and loose, black dress. She stared down, trying to estimate the drop. It was so far she couldn’t see the bottom in the darkness, but then, the moon wasn’t giving her much light tonight. She spread her arms wide, embracing the emptiness, and tumbled forward.She fell so fast that the mountainside blurred around her and the scream of the wind in her ears almost, almost, drowned out the roar of adrenaline. The ground raced up to meet her, seemingly hungry for her blood, aching for her death.Not today.Her wings shot out, jerking her to a stop mid-air, her feet almost grazing the ground that had moments before been a demon about to devour her alive.

Bio:

Wendy Knight is the award-winning, bestselling author of the young adult series Fate on Fire and Riders of Paradesos. She was born and raised in Utah by a wonderful family who spoiled her rotten because she was the baby. Now she spends her time driving her husband crazy with her many eccentricities (no water after five, terror when faced with a live phone call, no touching the knives…you get the idea). She also enjoys chasing her three adorable kids, playing tennis, watching football, reading, and hiking. Camping is also big—her family is slowly working toward a goal of seeing all the National Parks in the U.S.

You can usually find her with at least one Pepsi nearby, wearing ridiculously high heels for whatever the occasion. And if everything works out just right, she will also be writing.

The ago-old story of what happens when a foul-mouthed, romance impaired heroine with no edit button and a predilection for hot sex is faced with her worst nightmare–a purpose.

Ari Katz is intelligent, driven, and will make an excellent demon hunter once initiated into the Brotherhood of David. However, this book is about his twin Nava: a smart-ass, self-cultivated hot mess, who is thrilled her brother is stuck with all the chosen one crap.

When Nava half-drunkenly interrupts Ari’s induction ceremony, she expects to be chastised. What she doesn’t expect is to take her brother’s place among the–until now–all-male demon hunters. Even worse? Her infuriating leader is former rock star Rohan Mitra, whose sudden retirement in his early twenties now seems a lot less mysterious.

Convinced that her twin still has a shot at his destiny, Nava hatches a plan to convince the Brotherhood to bring the other Katz sibling into the fold. It’s too bad Rohan’s guarding her so closely that she might not be able to put it into action.

And it’s really too bad Rohan’s exactly what Nava’s always wanted: the perfect bad boy fling with no strings attached, because he may also be the one to bring down her carefully erected emotional shields. That’s as dangerous as all the evil fiends vying for the bragging rights of killing the only female ever chosen for Demon Club–or the one demon in particular out for payback.

Odds of survival: eh.

Odds of having a very good time with Rohan before she bites it: much better.

Excerpt:

The maybe-demon from Josh’s alleyway was back, having stopped about five feet away and triggering the motion sensor. What with Josh’s sister trying to kill me and all, he’d fallen off my radar.

Aloe gooped over my fingers, having clutched the frond hard enough to break it, and my terror and an intense curiosity resurfaced. There was no denying his compelling presence. Plus, he had those long lashes that were my Kryptonite. I opened my mouth to scream. Or drool.

He held a finger up to his delectable lips to keep me quiet, circling me with lazy strides, checking me out.

I’d have been offended by the blatant appraisal except under his intense scrutiny, I lit up with an electric zing. I found myself stroking the aloe stalks in an obscene manner. Even knowing he couldn’t see my blush since I was in the shadows didn’t kill my utter mortification at jerking off plant life in not-so-subtextual yearning.

He stalked toward me, his leather jacket rustling with each step.

I held up a hand to stop him, the faintest electric crackle pulsing off my skin.

He didn’t stop, didn’t slow. In fact, he kept up his steady approach until his hand covered mine. My magic shocked us both at his touch. I gasped and shivered as pleasure, not pain, rumbled through me.

Hand still clasped in his, he stared at me suspiciously, instead of in fear, but had I wanted, I could have broken his hold. Not a demon, then? He fingered the thin silver necklace I wore with surprising gentleness, toying with the cute floral pendant dangling off it that read “I will kick you in the balls if I have to.”

“Should I be scared?” Given how he sounded like sex, sin, and salaciousness–the true definition of a triple threat–I decided that yes, he was most definitely a demon.

I met his mocking gaze, my rooted stance and beating heart placing me somewhere between morbid fascination and noping the hell out at warp speed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

A global wanderer, hopeless romantic, and total cynic with a broken edit button, Deborah writes adult urban fantasy to satisfy her love of smexy romances and tales of chicks who kick ass. She is all about the happily-ever-after, with a huge dose of hilarity along the way. “It takes a bad girl to fight evil. Go Wilde.”

Deborah will be awarding a $10 Amazon/BN GC to one winner, another winner will win a print copy of the book (International), both are randomly drawn via rafflecopter during the tour. a Rafflecopter giveaway

For additional chances to win and more entertaining excerpts, follow Deborah on her tour: http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2017/02/book-blast-unlikeable-demon-hunter-by.html

Sydney McCall left behind an ex-fiancé and a New York advertising job to return home to Deer Park, North Carolina and help her sister, Kat, run the local animal shelter, Friendly Paws. Determined to save the shelter from financial trouble, Sydney and Kat organize a cat café fundraising event at a local coffee shop. Things are looking up until their landlord, Trowbridge Littleton, threatens to shut down the event. When Sydney drops by his art gallery to make peace, she finds Kat–along with Littleton’s dead body.

Local homicide detective Will Worthington–who just happens to be Sydney’s old high school crush–is highly suspicious of the sisters’ involvement. Desperate to clear their names from the suspect list, Sydney pounces on the investigation. With the help of one of the shelter cats, a savvy orange tabby named Toby, Sydney begins poking her nose into other local businesses whose owners may have benefited from Littleton’s death–until the killer notices she’s pawing a little too closely at the truth.

Excerpt:

Will glanced up. “Pretty observant of you, Syd. The ME will determine the cause of death.” He tapped on his notebook with the edge of his pen. “Why don’t you walk me through what happened. How did the two of you come to be in Littleton’s shop so early?”

“We had something we wanted to discuss with Mr. Littleton, and we thought the earlier the better,” I said.

“I see. And just what was the nature of this discussion?”

I shifted my weight to my other foot. “Friendly Paws has teamed with Dayna’s Treats & Sweets for a cat café event to benefit the shelter. For a nominal fee, people can have their coffee and goodies in a room with shelter cats that are available for adoption.”

Will glanced up, and I could see a light of interest in his eyes. “I’ve heard of those cafes. They’re mostly in Europe.”

“There are a few in the States, big cities mostly. This will be the first event of it’s kind in North Carolina. We’re hoping to increase revenue for both the café and the shelter.”

“Let me guess. That idea didn’t sit well with Littleton?”

Kat and I both shook our heads in unison and Kat exclaimed, “I should say not! He was in the shop yesterday, and he made his feelings pretty darn clear. He thought having the cats around would be detrimental to business. Heck, he thinks-thought-the shelter in general was a detriment to the town.”

“A sentiment you two didn’t agree with,” he said slowly.

“I should say not!” Kat returned, her cheeks starting to flame. “Syd and I tried to reason with him yesterday but he dind’t want to hear it.”

“And that’s why you decided to come here this morning?”

I nodded. “Yes. I put together a pretty good argument of pros for the event. I was hoping to appeal to his sense of business acumen.”

“Why did you feel this was necessary? Had he threatened you?”

“Not in so many words,” I said carefully. “But he did say yesterday that he was determined to put a stop to the proceedings, and we hadn’t heard the last from him.”

“Um-hm.” Will murmured, scribbling some more.

“And Leila Addams – do you remember her, Will? She’s a reporter for the Deer Park Herald now,” Kat chimed in. “Leila said that she thought Littleton was inquiring about starting a petition against showing the shelter cats – and the shelter in general.”

Will made another notation in his book. “So when was the last time you saw Littleton?”

“Yesterday around one-thirty.” I cleared my throat. “If that’s all the questions you have, we need to get going.”

He snapped his notebook shut. “You’re free to go for now,” he said, “but I will probably need to talk to you some more later on.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “We’ll be here.”

The corners of Will’s lips twitched slightly. “Good to know.”

Once we were back out on the street, Kat hauled off and punched me in the arm – hard.

“Yow!” I cried. “What was that for?”

“For thinking that you could come here and face Littleton without me, for one,” Kat said. “I knew you had your fingers crossed last night.”

I rubbed at my arm. “Can’t put anything over on you, can I?”

She gave me a shrewd look. “So, how did it feel, seeing Will Worthington again after all these years! I heard he was back in town, but I had no idea he’d become a detective – homicide, no less.” She cut me a sidelong glance. “Funny, isn’t it, how you two came back to Deer Park almost at the same time. Like Karma, or something.”

“Well, I’d rather deal with Will than his partner, Colombo Junior,” I said. “Come on, let’s get my car and get to the shelter. I hope Maggie isn’t too worried.”

We walked through the alleyway and when we were almost at the spot where I’d parked, I suddenly stopped short. “Hey,” Kat cried as she ran full tilt into my back. “What’s wrong?”

I pointed to the empty space beside my car. “There was a white Lincoln there when I came, parked pretty badly. The license plate read TLITTLE. I thought for sure it was Littleton’s car, but if it’s gone…”

“A white Lincoln? That’s his wife Petra’s car,” Kat said. She glanced around, then pointed to the gym. “She must have parked it here instead of the gym parking lot, like she usually does. I wonder why.”

Another disturbing thought occurred to me as I slid behind the wheel. It would have been impossible for Littleton’s wife not to have seen the ambulance and police cars parked in front of her husband’s shop. Why hadn’t she come to see what was wrong?

Unless, of course…she didn’t have to. Because she already knew.

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

While Toni Lotempio does not commit – or solve – murders in real life, she has no trouble doing it on paper. Her lifelong love of mysteries began early on when she was introduced to her first Nancy Drew mystery at age 10 – The Secret in the Old Attic. She (and ROCCO, albeit he’s uncredited) pen the Nick and Nora mystery series from Berkley Prime Crime – the first volume, MEOW IF ITS MURDER, debuted Dec. 2, 2014. Followed by #2, CLAWS FOR ALARM. #3, CRIME AND CATNIP, is out this December. She, Rocco and Maxx make their home in Clifton, New Jersey, just twenty minutes from the Big Apple – New York. Catch up with them at http://www.tclotempio.com and http://www.catsbooksmorecats.blogspot.com

Before he died, Patience was the Earl of Worthington’s second wife. So why shouldn’t Patience be allowed a second chance at marriage, too? Of course, finding a new husband was not something the mother of four had ever planned on. But a surprise encounter with her first love has suddenly made the impossible seem possible all over again . . .

It seems like a lifetime ago that Richard, Viscount Wolverton, was halfway around the world, looking for adventure . . . while Patience, at her coming-out, was left with no choice but to take old Worthington’s hand. Richard never forgot the woman whose heart he yearned for—and now that he’s back, he’s not going to let her slip away again . . .

Excerpt:

Pulteney Hotel, London, 1815

“And this is Viscount Wolverton.” Patience Worthington watched as Almeria, Lady Bellamny, smiled as she introduced the gentleman to the Duchess of Bristol. Almeria turned her black eyes on Patience. The smile didn’t fade at all as she said, “Wolverton, I believe you have already met the Dowager Countess of Worthington.”

What in God’s name is he doing here? Patience inclined her head and held out her hand. “Indeed. The years have treated you well, my lord.”

Bowing, he took her fingers in his. “As they have done to you, my lady.”

His lips hovered over her hand as she prayed he would do nothing more than kiss the air above them, but no. The devil pressed his warm, firm lips to her knuckles; even through her gloves she could feel his touch and fought the urge to suck in a breath. “Thank you, my lord.”

One would think after all these years and his betrayal she would be immune to him. And one would be wrong. She held her breath, counting—One, two, three, four, five. Thank God—until he finally straightened and returned her hand to her. Thank God! Patience let out the breath, yet she could not control the pounding in her breast. It took all the control she had not to make an excuse and leave the room. Yet, she could not do that to Dotty Stern, soon to be the Marchioness of Merton.

“He has been a friend for a very long time,” Almeria continued, as if she had no idea of the havoc she had created by inviting Wolverton. “Though he hardly ever comes to Town.”

“Well, my dear,” Lord Bellamny said, “you couldn’t be here so often if it wasn’t for the help he gives me. Someone must assist me in my experiments.”

“Very true, my dear.”

Patience made the mistake of glancing up at the same moment Richard Wolverton stared down at her. His amber eyes smoldered as they had the last time she had seen him, only days before her marriage to the old Earl of Worthington.

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Bestselling author Ella Quinn’s studies and other jobs have always been on the serious side. Reading historical romances, especially Regencies, were her escape. Eventually her love of historical novels led her to start writing them. She has just finished her first series, The Marriage Game, and her new series, The Worthingtons, began in April 2016.

She is married to her wonderful husband of over thirty years. They have a son and two beautiful granddaughters, and a dog. After living in the South Pacific, Central America, North Africa, England and Europe, she and her husband decided to make their dreams come true and are now living on a sailboat cruising the Caribbean and North America. Europe is next!

FBI Special Agent Josh Blake has seen some bizarre cases in his day. His latest case is one for the record books. He has multiple homicides, corpses drained of every ounce of blood, and no suspects. When rumors surface that the French Quarter may be hiding an insidious monster bent on drenching the streets in dead bodies, he must suspend logic and place his trust in the mystical.

She wants a fresh start…

Isabelle Toussánt left her family home in the bayou five year ago, cutting all ties with her abusive whiskey swilling stepfather, to forge a new life in the French Quarter. Now a successful business owner of Madam Toussánt’s Mystical Gifts in Jackson Square, and a Seer with voodoo roots. The foundation of her new life shatters when one of her employee’s winds up dead and she is dragged into a deadly game where she becomes the target of a serial killer.

A passion neither expected…

etermined to stop the brutal slayings, Josh must rely on the beautiful Isabelle who makes him question everything he has ever known about life and death all while surrendering to a desire hotter than a Bayou night. When Isabelle disappears without a trace, with tourists flocking to the party capital for Halloween, and the body count continues to mount, Josh will be forced to push beyond the boundaries of what he thinks is possible and rescue the woman he loves before it’s too late.

She swung around, her long dark hair, the silky wave of it, shimmering and rippling as she faced the captain. Josh took one look at Miss Isabelle Toussánt and felt like a thoroughbred had just kicked him in the stomach.

She was exotic, with caramel skin and looking taut and lean in her formfitting tank that displayed delicate arms. He sucked in a sharp breath when she glanced at the captain. Cat eyes. The mahogany color reminded Josh of his chestnut mare as a child, Daisy. They were framed by black brows. One of them was currently raised in his direction as she spoke to the captain.

“Yes, Captain Tremayne? Can I interest you in a cup of coffee?” Her voice reminded him of a shot of smooth, single malt whiskey.

“Miss Toussánt, this is Agent Josh Blake with the FBI. He has some questions, if you’re up for them.”

A wounded shadow passed through her magnetic eyes for a moment before she shifted her gaze toward him. The unabridged effect of her stare was electric and compelling, until he found himself immersed in her eyes. Unexpected lust zinged along his spine, not that he would give in to the temptation she presented, but his body resonated with the siren’s call her body echoed.

“Agent, can I interest you in some coffee?” She held up a glass carafe of steaming brew, already half empty.

“Not right now, Miss Toussánt. Thank you for the offer, though,” he murmured gently but firmly. It smelled like heaven, but he didn’t want to coddle her. She needed to understand he was in charge and would dig into her background no matter how sweetly her hips swished as she walked.

“Please call me Isabelle,” she offered with a slight smile, but it didn’t spread to her eyes. No amount of coffee or alcohol would erase the vision of death. He knew what that first time was like, though, the horror of it, the way it twisted your insides. Seeing for the first time how fragile life truly was made you face your own mortality. And, more important, you began to understand that some individuals just wanted to watch the world burn.

“Is there somewhere we can talk privately?” he asked, assessing her response, both verbal and non-verbal, ignoring the intense desire churning in his gut as he studied her. If there was one thing Miss Toussánt was, it was off-limits. It didn’t matter how long it had been since he’d done the horizontal tango. If there was one thing he was strictly by the book on, it was that he never blurred the lines in a case. The evidence either convicted a person or set them free. As it was, she was a witness to a horrific murder, possibly more.

There was something off about her that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. The way her eyes darted nervously around, and she kept wetting her pouty bottom lip. It could be signs of trauma and shock from discovering the body, or it could be she was hiding something. Perhaps she’d witnessed the incident and feared the killer would come back for her if he knew.

“Certainly, follow me.” Isabelle returned the carafe to the coffeemaker, wiped her palms along her skirt and nodded toward a doorway in the far corner.

He would have followed her into hell if it meant listening to her sultry voice some more and siphoning whatever information she had on this case.

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Born in St. Louis, Missouri, Maggie grew up listening to Cardinals baseball and reading anything she could get her hands on. She remembers her mother saying if only she would read the right type of books instead binging her way through the romance aisles at the bookstore, she’d have been a doctor. While Maggie never did get that doctorate, she graduated cum laude from the University of Missouri-St. Louis with an M.A. in History.

Maggie is a bestselling and award-winning author published in multiple fiction genres. She also writes erotic romance under the name Anya Summers. A total geek at her core, when she is not writing, she adores attending the latest comic con or spending time with her family. She currently lives in the Midwest with her two furry felines.

I’d like to introduce you to my favorite of my characters—English lord, renowned classical pianist…and a vampire since 1659, the year before Charles II was restored to the throne of England.Morgan Gabriel D’Arcy is 6’2” with long blond hair and British blue eyes. I used to hope I’d meet someone like him (minus the vampire bit). He is svelte, sexy, sensual, and just generally yummy. He loves the ladies to a fault.

Now, I’ll let him have the stage and tell you about himself.

Hullo and welcome to Morgan on a half-shell. I was born in the year of our Lord 1634, became the Earl of St. Averil in 1645 when my father perished fighting with the Royalist army at the Battle of Naseby. My ancestral home, Royal Oak, commands a view of the sea from a hill overlooking a hamlet on the coast of Devon. I spend a great deal of time in London, however. There’s not much call for a concert pianist on the coast of Devon.

I studied piano with Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, on a harpsicord then, of course. Later, I studied with Liszt, Ravel and Debussy. I was a fighter pilot in World War II, flying night missions over Nazi Germany. Today, I fly a Lear jet to and from Royal Oak and London, sometimes ferrying members of my brethren to the Europe for continental fare.

The most important thing I want to tell you is the nature of my race—the Vampyre. The most sacred creed of our kind is The Pact, and compared to the Ten Commandments, it is rather lax. Exceot…

The Masquerade. All of us are bound by an oath of secrecy concerning our true nature and our very existence. The Vampyre are viral mutations. The newbie is transformed in a ritual blood exchange wherein a fragile virus is introduced into the host. The blood borne pathogen is a mutagen. BTW, most humans are viral mutations but to a much lesser degree.

Ever your servant,

Morgan

~~~~~~

Reviewers have said of Morgan:

RT Book Reviews: There are shades of the illustrious Lestat in the haughty Lord Morgan Gabriel D’Arcy, however, Linda Nightingale provides several interesting twists on the traditional vampire myth that makes this vampire (and his nocturnal adventures) into something wholly unique.

Don’t be alone for the holidays. Join the Wild Roses for many romantic companions, each month two different authors will entertain and entice with fun posts, industry news, and romance, romance, romance!

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BLURB:

Centuries after the fallen angels left heaven to live among humans, their Nephilim descendants dwell in secret, hidden from the modern world. Once, a charismatic leader known as the Phoenix led their people, but he vanished centuries ago. The few surviving Great Houses are in decline, bickering over petty rivalries while a handful of faithful warriors battle to keep the forces of evil at bay.

Eighteen-year-old Aiden McLachlan devotes her life to her studies and pursues her lifelong goal to become a full-fledged Watcher. But everything she knows of her life is a lie and everyone a liar. Through a strange twist of fate, she finds herself caught up in an ancient prophecy.

The stars predict the rebirth of the Nephilim leader, but the mystery must be unraveled or the Phoenix cannot rise. With a soul-eating demon, a coven of ancient vampires, and a hardheaded Celtic warrior competing to subvert the Phoenix, Aiden doesn’t know where to turn or who she can trust.

EXCERPT:

Magnus loomed over her, attempting to inspect her injuries. His fingers were hot and alien against her skin, and she flinched from his touch.
“Stay put while I retrieve the crucifix,” Magnus ordered. He moved away from her. A moment later, he returned carrying the crucifix.

Aiden shook her head but stayed still. She automatically tried to place his accent and failed. There were too many layers. “Where are you from? I can’t quite place your nationality.”

“I’m Averni.” He sank to the ground beside her, and those six-fingered hands touched her again, causing her flesh to crawl.

“The Averni were a Celtic tribe,” Aiden said. Her foggy mind recalled little else other than the Averni had been from the region of Gaul before it became France.

“That’d be correct.” The Celt reached out with his strange, strong fingers and pushed Aiden’s head to the side to expose the wound. He removed her hand and examined the bite. His glittering gold eyes were intelligent and inhuman. Up close he smelled earthy and sensual, a suggestive scent which caused Aiden to flush and look away.

“Why is your name Latin?” she asked.

“My mother was Roman. Stay still,” he replied.

“How bad is it?” Matthew asked.

“Not too bad.” Magnus threaded the crucifix’s chain through his fingers so the holy symbol rested in his palm. He opened the silver flask and poured holy water over the crucifix.

Aiden felt excited and afraid and so tense she wanted to crawl out of her skin. “Are you really immortal?”

“Yes,” Magnus said. “This is going to hurt. I’m going to have to hold you down.”

Melissa Thomas breathes life into her dreams, bringing imaginary characters and fantasy worlds into our reality. She loves her characters so much they become her alter-egos, enacting the exciting adventures she envisions for them. She is a resident of San Francisco, California and adores the picturesque city by the bay. Her hobbies include surfing and scuba diving.